


everything good or bad ends

by angelicashes



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Bipolar Andrew Minyard, Multi, Twinyards get therapy, Wholesome Twinyards, aaron minyard gets the love he needs, andrew is a good brother-ish, betsy dobson is a livesaver, mentions of bipolar and medication, minyard family trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29712954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicashes/pseuds/angelicashes
Summary: Andrew Minyard had been Andrew Doe for many years of his life. He had inherited the Minyard surname, not for Tilda, not because he was her son, but for Aaron, because he was Aaron's brother. Andrew had hoped he would inherit nothing from Tilda in his life, besides a fortune large enough to buy a very expensive car.Andrew was reminded why it was best not to hope when Betsy sat him down with her prescription pad in hand.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did quite a bit of research on this, but google cannot be the perfect resource when it comes to telling stories about real conditions people face, so forgive me for any inconsistencies.
> 
> Aaron and Andrew get the love they deserve!  
> this is a work in progress :)

i.

### Hypomania

hy·po·ma·nia | \ ˌhī-pə-ˈmā-nē-ə , -nyə \

A mild form of mania, marked by elation and hyperactivity.

Andrew felt like a train without brakes. He was hurtling forward, full steam ahead, with nothing to slow him down. It was the greatest he had felt in years. The new freshman recruit sent another ball speeding towards the goal, and Andrew beat it out of the way, aiming it at Kevin's helmet. It bounced off, and the six foot striker glared back at him with annoyance. 

"Make your rebounds productive, Andrew, or don't bother at all." he said coolly. 

Andrew just laughed. He found Kevin incredibly funny these days; in fact, just about everyone was downright hilarious. Not because of what they said, per se - but why. Andrew could see their puppet strings, pulling their arms and making them move, forcing oh-so predictable words to spew from their mouths. And Andrew was the only real boy among them, pinocchio be damned. Hadn't he called Neil that once?

The memory made him half-smile again, his cracked lips breaking and bleeding. He hadn't had a drink of water the entire week, preferring to run the court with Renee at break times during practice. Wymack stepped onto court, calling one of those breaks. The team removed their helmets, shoulders slouching with exhaustion. Andrew couldn't remember what it felt like to be tired. 

"Jesus, Andrew," Matt said, eyeing the goalkeeper. "When was the last time you slept?" he asked it with trepidation, afraid to know the answer, or maybe just afraid to even talk to Andrew. No sane person stood in train tracks and waited for the collision, of course. 

Andrew waved him off, letting him off lightly for distracting him from the three hundred thoughts buzzing around in his head. "That's for me to know and you to not care about, Matthew." 

He opened his locker with excessive force, pulling out his thick criminal law textbook. Neil had been watching him staring at the book the other day and had offhandedly said, "you could open it and read it, you know." Andrew had retorted with some very creative explitives, and Neil had just rolled his eyes, unfazed. Andrew was memorizing a chapter a day, to put that ginger son a bitch in his place. He followed Renee back out on the court, skimming the pages, whispering under his breath. He should really invest in some reading glasses, but Neil and Nicky would never get enough of it - he should ask Aaron if his eyes were also bad, that seemed like a good idea. He wondered if Aaron would show up to their cojoined session with Bee this week, even though the last one had been a month ago when Andrew had thrown him out, but- 

"Andrew." Renee's voice cut through the ones in his head. 

"No." he replied, flipping another page.

"I've observed that you've been acting quite differently this week." 

"I've decided to convert, could you tell?" he shot back, daring her to take him on. It was such a fun game. 

Renee just looked at him sadly, as though he were a lost puppy. "Neil won't say it, noboy wants to, but we're all worried-" 

A flash of annoyance struck him, and he tossed the huge textbook over his shoulder, it landing on the court floor with a thunderous boom. "We're going far too slowly." he said, and began running full speed. Renee didnt bother to catch up. _Good,_ Andrew thought. _I don't need a puppet telling me that MY strings are all tangled up._

He ran his lap right into Coach, who stepped out onto the court, grabbing Andrew's shirt collar. "You going to pick that up?" he said, pointing at the book, pages splayed open, notes falling out everywhere. 

"You should let me go, coach. Seriously." Andrew said. He had already been standing still too long, and the caffeine in his system was making every nerve in his body jitter and shake, despite the fact he hadn't had a coffee in weeks. 

Coach let him go, but stayed in his path. Andrw considered whipping out his knives, and in fact found himself doing it even before the thought had fully formed, when Neil came up beside him and extended his hand. "Should I take those?" he asked, but he was really saying _give them to me,_ which Andrew hated, because nobody told him to give them anything. Ever. 

But Andrew just laughed and hurled the knives like darts, all three, at the court glass. They struck, not able to stick in the plexiglass, and clattered to the floor. The silence was astounding, but Andrew's mind was already on the slight fray in his favourite pair of jeans, and the discolouration on the backseat of his car which was definitely Nicky spilling one of his god-awful sugary drinks which Andrew found himself indulging in more and more often. 

"I have things to do." he said, which was a complete understatement, and bounced out of the exy court, one half of his mind searching for Kevin and the other reconsidering Neil's offer that they learn Russian together. It couldn't be that hard. It would only take him a month at best, with all this energy he had. Neil was calling his name behind him, a terribly fake sound that seemed to be drowning underwater to Andrew's ears. _Poor Pinocchio,_ he thought. _He's still just a wooden boy with strings, searching for his long-lost conscience under the sea._

Andrew threw open the doors of the Foxhole Court and stepped out into the Southern sun. Heat baked down on him, and Andrew soaked it up, every ray seeming to make the world brighter, the colours more vibrant. But it was all tinted, slightly shiny, as thought everything in the world was covered with a layer of plastic. Andrew didn't mind. This artificial world was so much better than his real one. He got in the car and never looked back. 


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

### Therapy

_ther·a·py | \ ˈther-ə-pē \_

Therapeutic medical treatment of impairment, injury, disease, or disorder

Andrew hung up on Coach for the fifth time. He felt like he had the worst fever in the world; sweat, chills, shakes, and worst of fucking all, the ominous feeling that he was unwell. He curled up on the beanbag in the dorm, his bowl of ice cream forgotten. He had bought ten tubs from the corner store near campus, and several packs of cigarettes along with it. He had already smoked through two. 

"Fuck." he said, to no one in particular. The ominous black shadow of sickness hung over him like a mourning shroud. Andrew had grown up needing to know if a slight shift in body language meant he had to flee his foster home or not. Right now, it felt as if every muscle in his body was telling him to run away from himself. In a fight or flight world, he would always choose to fight, but this felt unbeatable. He hated it. 

He reached a hand out to grab a glass of water and knocked it right off the table. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Minyard?" he scolded himself, rubbing his face. He still felt like a train without brakes, but he also now had the distinct feeling he was freefalling from a very, very high ledge. He knew it because he had done it multiple times before. But never like this, with colors and thoughts and words spinning all around him, tearing at his clothes and begging for his attention. 

He was already speaking before he even fully realized Nicky and Aaron were standing at the door. "Coach sent handlers for his dog, did he?" he said, the lighthearted tone of his voice making him nauseous. 

"You just left practice, Andrew. And your behavior, it-" Nicky stopped when he saw the nine other tubs of ice cream on the counter, all melting. "You're not okay."

"When was I ever?"

"Cut the bullshit already." Aaron spat. His tone was poisonous but his face was devoid of all emotion. Andrew had the feeling he was staring into a very flesh-like mirror. 

"You're acting just like her." 

Andrew did not need Aaron to explain who he meant by her. It was a slap in the face, and yet the fact he had even brought her up piqued Andrew's attention. Aaron avoided talking about Tilda like the plague anywhere but Bee's office, where he weaponized it against Andrew, trying and not trying at all to understand his actions. 

"I don't feel very dead, Aaron," he said, and Nicky grimaced for Aaron, who looked like a statue frozen in horror.

"Andrew," Nicky whispered and took a step forward towards him. 

Andrew jumped out of the way and held out his arms. He did not want to be hearing this from them. There was too much he had to say, and they would understand too little. They were standing in the train tracks, begging him to stop, putting themselves in danger. Andrew knew only one person would jump out the way when Andrew told them to.

"Where is Neil?" he asked.

"Being captain of the team," Aaron replied. "He says you'll be smart enough to know you'll put your promises before...whatever this is." he sneered at the word promises.

It was unfortunate that Neil was correct. Andrew knew the feeling of the freefall intimately enough to ride the waves of it. But if something happened to any of his people, while he was in this state - No. There was no control like this, and that was one of the only things Andrew actually had to call his own. 

He felt a wave of shivers go down his spine, intrusive thoughts screaming in his mind. _And if they all died, and you were busy doing cartwheels in the parking lot like the mental whackjob you are?_

The sheeny, plastic glint over everything suddenly seemed tacky to Andrew, like the plastic couch covers put over the bed in his third foster home. _"I won't have some street urchin dirtying my good furniture."_ the house mother had said to him. Bee's chairs in her office had the same suede upholstery. But hers was well-loved, used, meant to hold and cradle the broken birds that came her way. 

"I think it's time we paid Betsy Bee a visit, dear brother," Andrew said to his other half. 

Aaron stared back at him, or rather through him, like he was watching Andrew's high coursing through his veins. Both of them seemed to be remembering when Aaron had looked the same; sweaty, vulnerable, clinging desperately to the same thing that was tearing him apart. 

"Nicky drives. You look like shit and I don't trust that you won't send us off the road." Aaron finally said. 

Andrew laughed, even though it wasn't in the least bit funny. It was always going to be him, of course; begging Aaron to come back, to sort their shit out, even though his usual self would have gone to the grave before extending the olive branch. It was lucky then, for the Minyard twins, that Andrew was going insane. 

They both climbed into the back seat, leaving the middle one open for Neil's spirit, the front seat open for Kevin's, and headed towards the office or Dr. Betsy Dobson. 


	3. Chapter 3

iii.

### Brother

broth·er | \ ˈbrə-t͟hər \

A male who has the same parents as another or one parent in common with another, or one related to another by common ties or interests

Bee handed Andrew a cup of hot chocolate, creamy, and with three sugars, just how he liked it. Aaron shrugged away the one she handed him, burying himself further into Andrew's favorite couch. Bee placed it carefully on a coaster on the coffee table, the offer still open, like almost everything in her life. Andrew thought it was pathetic, the way she placated, but had it not worked on him?

"Andrew," Bee began, legs crossed, looking up at him from her seat. "Won't you sit down with us?"

Andrew looked down at himself and realized he was pacing the room, taking big strides from one wall to the other. He hadn't noticed really, not when his hands were shaking so badly he was spilling hot liquid onto his hands, and a terrible, seeping paranoia was mixing with his blood like ice water. "Not at the moment," he said casually, raising a hand to wave away her suggestion, and kept walking. He downed the hot chocolate to try and keep the chill from his muscles - he couldn't freeze up, not when Aaron was likely to pounce on him any minute. This had been a bad idea. 

"The last time I saw you both, the conversation ended rather abruptly," Bee said euphemistically. "After Aaron suggested the idea that-"

"I remember what he said," Andrew said plainly, his tone indicating none of the anger he felt in the pit of his stomach, churning over and making him feel sicker than he already did. This wasn't how this was meant to go.

"And I still mean it," Aaron interrupted, because he always had to be the one to set the narrative. "The trial is coming up in September and you don't even want to tell me anything when you'll have to tell it to strangers! To the judge, the jury, and the fucking executioner." Aaron took a shaky breath and Andrew would usually have asked him what made him so upset, except this time it was himself. 

"Aaron, you didn't frame it that nicely," Bee said, and Andrew was for a second glad she was his therapist first, before she said, "but you're not wrong. It's a fair question to ask why Andrew can break the rules of his own deal with you, but when you do it, it leads to you being estranged. However, Andrew has explained his reasoning to you, and I think neither of you are ready to accept responsibility or blame for what has happened. Complicated problems do not have simple solutions."

_God,_ Andrew thought. _You just want the answers to the riddle called your fucked up twin brother wrapped in a bow and delivered to your doorstep, don't you, Aaron?_

"Fuck you. We didn't come here to talk about that." Andrew said instead, and turned sharply, moving to take a seat on the opposite end of his favorite couch, as far from Aaron as physically possible. "You need to tell him what's happening to me, Bee." 

Bee stared at him for a moment before replying. "Do you know what is happening, Andrew?"

He hadn't a few days before, but now the feeling was pulling on the back of his neck, making his hairs stand up on end. It felt too similar to a puppet's strings, and the words coming out of his mouth felt more and more like he was a marionette doll, convinced of his freedom when he was at his most controlled. 

"I'm hypomanic." _Do_ _n't let it be true,_ one part of him thought. _Idiot,_ the other half mocked. _Stop wishing on dying stars._

Aaron's head whipped around. "Like-" 

"Like Tilda, Aaron? Is that what you want to hear?" Andrew said, channeling all the deeply hidden rage in his stomach through his eyes, piercing Aaron's skin. Aaron could see through Andrew, but all the same, Andrew could see through his brother too. 

Bee nodded, stood up, and went to her desk, leaving the two to stare each other down. It became a contest all too quickly; like everything between them. _Fuck you, let me go, you're not my problem to deal with,_ Aaron seemed to say, hazel eyes turned black and angry. _Fuck you, I already did let you go, against my will, and now you blame me for still being around._ Andrew replied, thinking back to all those weeks, months, and years where he and Aaron couldn't even say a civil word to each other, how too little had changed. The funny part was, they had done it to themselves, really. Unwilling to reach out, and unable to let go. 

Andrew Minyard had been Andrew Doe for many years of his life. He had inherited the Minyard surname, not for Tilda, not because he was her son, but for Aaron, because he was Aaron's brother. Andrew had hoped he would inherit nothing from Tilda in his life, besides a fortune large enough to buy a very expensive car.

Andrew was reminded why it was best not to hope when Betsy sat him down with her prescription pad in hand. 

"To receive a diagnosis as someone with type ii bipolar, you need to experience at least one hypomanic event. As you have now, Andrew, it's legal for me to diagnose you. Both of you have told me that Tilda suffered from the same condition?" she asked, as though either of them would answer. Aaron looked as though he had just had a nearly-healed wound ripped open. Andrew wondered distantly if Aaron saw him as the salt to the wound or the knife which carved it. Andrew thought of himself as the plaster, barely keeping him together, but what he thought would never change how Aaron, how any of them thought of him. 

"There are several medications to help relieve the effects of type ii bipolar," Bee said. 

"No." both Minyards said at the same time. The tension in the room subsided by an inch. 

"Alright. I cannot force you to do anything against your will, Andrew. I never will." Bee said, shoving layers of subconscious therapy into a single sentence, and Andrew dissected every single one. She knew he would, but it was frustratingly comforting all the same. 

Aaron turned to face Andrew. "So if you're bipolar, does...does-"

"Its genetic, Aaron, So, yes, you could have it too," Andrew said, refusing to stare at his bother, refusing to look anywhere, refusing to believe that after everything he had done to protect Aaron, that Tilda was still fucking up his life from the grave. 

Aaron seemed to fold himself in half into the couch. "That's not possible. I'm not like how you are." 

Andrew had to laugh at that one. "We're identical twins, in case you forgot. We have the same DNA."

"There's only a 40-70% chance Aaron will share this diagnosis, actually. And he hasn't presented any signs so far. I wouldn't worry too much about it." Bee's voice was distant, a hum in Andrew's ears not louder than the memories of a crashing car, of a heart monitor beeping, of his brother's tearful weeping at night when he thought Andrew was asleep. 

Andrew felt the puppet strings pull on the nape of his neck, and he snapped to look at Aaron. "See, dear brother? I'll take care of everything like I always do. I'll carry the load, I'll bear the cross, all you have to do is be there. But I keep looking for you, and you're always somewhere else. With somebody else. No matter. Nothing in the world can un-make us, now that we're here. Best to make the worst of it while we can, right?" he spat, liquid fire leaving his lips. It was flammable, and Aaron's face told him he was burning. 

"Do you seriously believe you're alone? I've never been able to forget that we're twins, Andrew. Not for a second. Could you believe you're as much my brother as I'm yours?" 

Andrew could not, not just yet. But hearing it from Aaron's mouth was still nice, and for once he felt like the one with the wound, while Aaron acted like the plaster. Just for a moment. 


End file.
